


with somebody who loves me

by bisexualfpjones



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: M/M, happy pride!, thats all i have to say
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-18
Updated: 2019-06-18
Packaged: 2020-05-13 23:11:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,870
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19261057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bisexualfpjones/pseuds/bisexualfpjones
Summary: Fred and FP's first outting at a gay club





	with somebody who loves me

**Author's Note:**

> if you don't know what song the title is from this probably isn't the fic for you

“I want to go dancing,” Fred says out of nowhere from his spot by FP’s feet. They’re in Fred’s bedroom, lounging around on a Thursday evening, putting off finishing their history presentation they’ve got due tomorrow.

“So then go dancing.” FP keeps his face hidden behind the comic book he’s reading. 

“I want to go dancing with _you_ ,” Fred clarifies, jostling FP’s foot for emphasis. FP brings the book down onto his lap, and while Fred doesn’t appreciate the scowl on his boyfriend’s face, he’s happy he’s at least got his full attention now. 

“Come on, Fred, you know I don’t dance.”

“That’s because you’re a big grumpy baby,” Fred teases as he sits up. “One night out with me wouldn’t kill you, ya know?” FP raises an eyebrow at him and Fred immediately winces, realizing his mistake. Even without their hometown being as close-minded as it is, FP’s father certainly has strong enough opinions of his own that forces his son in the closet. “Okay, bad choice of words, but you know what I mean. We can take a train into the city. Nobody’ll know us. And we can find a gay club and-”

FP cuts him off. “You’ve already got this whole night planned, don’t you?”

Fred blushes, a sheepish grin forming on his face. “Maybe.”

FP knows he’s already lost, but he wants to see what he can get out of this. “I don’t know, Freddie…”

“Aw, come on, F!” And suddenly he’s replacing the comic book on FP’s lap, laces his fingers behind his boyfriend’s head. “When do I ask you for anything?”

FP scoffs, arms stubbornly folded over his chest. “Literally all the time.”

“Okay, fine, but this one’s important.”

“Aren’t they always?” Fred’s got a leg on either side of the other boy’s hips, and all it takes is a little wiggling before FP loses his resolve and reaches out grip those skinny thighs. It’s annoying sometimes, he thinks, how quickly he turns to putty around Fred. He’s good at being passive with everyone else’s desires, but not Fred’s. Never Fred’s.

Fred shifts his hips again, and now he’s just playing dirty. “Come on, FP. Please?” Cue the puppy eyes. “Please?” He’s even thrown in a pout for good measure.

FP supposes the game’s gone on long enough. There’s also the matter of him being this close to sporting a full chub if Fred keeps writhing around on top of him. So he lets up. “Alright, fine. We can go.” The resulting look of pure joy on Fred’s face is exactly why FP can never say no to him.

Fred pulls him in to a kiss then, his smile never leaving his face. He tips them both over so that they’re laying face to face on the bed, legs all tangled, and FP’s hands snake up to settle on the skin of Fred’s waist where his shirt has risen.

“I knew you couldn’t resist me.” Fred’s voice is low and smug, breath war against FP’s lips.

FP tries to ignore the shiver that runs down his spine. “Don’t start getting cocky. There’s still time to change my mind.”

“You wouldn’t. You love me too much.”

And Fred’s right. They both know it. Trying to argue it would be pointless, so FP just pulls their bodies closer and kisses him instead.

\--

FP doesn’t know what the dress code is for a gay club. Or, he has his own ideas of what’s maybe expected, but he damn well doesn’t have anything fitting the bill in his closet. Instead, he opts for his least holey jeans and a plain black shirt, a grey flannel thrown over because it’s just cold enough out to warrant some extra coverage.

He’s been waiting at the train station - because Fred had to make up some lie about sleeping over Gladys’ that night and he figured it was less conspicuous for FP to just meet him here than his house - for about half an hour when his boyfriend finally shows up. If the grimace on his face is anything to go by, clearly FP’s made a poor fashion choice.

“That’s what you wear to a gay club?”

FP looks down at his shirt and tugs at it before looking back up to Fred. “What else am I supposed to wear?” He takes in Fred’s appearance then. He’s no better off; just jeans and a zipped up hoodie. “Like you’re one to talk.”

Fred smirks then, unzipping his jacket to reveal a bright yellow tank that is definitely at least two sizes too small for him. FP’s torn between wanting to crack jokes about Fred shopping in the children’s section and gawking at his muscles that are on full display through the fabric. Baseball and lugging concrete for his dad on the weekends has done his body good. Fred seems pretty satisfied with himself and zips his jacket back up.

“Whatever,” FP mumbles, shaking himself out of the hypnosis of Fred’s abs. “We’re gonna miss the train.”

\--

FP doesn’t know where the hell they’re going, but Fred seems pretty sure of himself, so FP just goes along with him. He doesn’t think Fred has any specific club in mind, is probably just running around until something calls to him, but FP doesn’t mind. The longer they spend on a goose chase for the right club the more time FP spends not dancing and the sooner they can go home. He doesn’t want to kill Fred’s good time, but…

“This one!” Fred proclaims all of a sudden, and FP almost runs in to him as he’s lighting up a cigarette. 

He inhales, letting the smoke fill his lungs before blowing it up into the night sky as he reads the sign in neon lights. “ _Randy’s_? You’re taking me to a gay bar named _Randy’s_?”

Fred rolls his eyes. “Shut up.” And then he’s tugging FP’s sleeve and dragging him towards the door.

They’re greeted by this huge, hairy guy asking for IDs. FP thinks he’d probably fit in at the Wyrm. Definitely not the kind of guy he expected to run into tonight. 

The guy looks down at their fake IDs and then back to them totally unimpressed. There’s a second where FP thinks they’ve been caught and will get turned away (he silently prays for it, anyway), but the moment doesn’t come. Instead, burly man scoffs out “Cute” and hands the cards back before stepping aside. FP doesn’t really know what that’s supposed to mean, but he’s not about to ask.

The place is loud when they get inside. They could hear the _thumpa thumpa_ of the music outside, but somehow it’s still a shock to FP’s system. The dance floor packed, a plethora of bodies pressed together moving in time to the beats, and FP knows it’s ridiculous given where they are, but he’s somehow struck by the fact that there’s not a single woman in sight. 

It hits him for the first time just exactly where he is, seeing men in cages dancing around in little more than dental floss and the music is _so goddamn loud_ he can’t even hear himself think.

It’s getting harder to breathe. And it’s hot. _So fucking_ hot. He’s in way over his head. He doesn’t belong here. 

Cool hands take hold of his face all of a sudden, and his eyes are able to focus on the vision in front of him.

“Hey! You alright?” Fred has to yell to be heard above the music. 

FP nods, still feels a little dazed. His fingers are burning and he suddenly remembers he was holding a cigarette, all burned down to the filter now. He stubs it into an ashtray on a nearby table.

“I’ll go get us some waters,” Fred offers. He squeezes FP’s arm to let him know he’s there, it’s okay. 

“Shot of whiskey!” FP calls out, and Fred nods as he heads to the bar.

Fred’s wondering if maybe they shouldn’t have done this. He knew from the start FP’s issues with going out went far beyond his lack of dancing skills. But still, he pushed. 

He just wanted one night out with his boyfriend. One night where they could actually act like they were together and not the bullshit they had back in Riverdale where they called it date but had to maintain a respectable distance the entire time lest anyone get suspicious. 

Maybe they could move to the city after graduation. Fred never had plans to leave his hometown, but God… maybe that was his only option if he wanted any kind of future with FP. People were more lax in the city. There were entire communities of people just like them here. He’s optimistic enough to believe Riverdale will become more accepting one day, but how long is he supposed to wait around for it to happen?

He heads back to FP with two bottles of water and a shot of whiskey in his hands, hands them off so he can slip his jacket off. “You feeling any better?”

FP downs the shot and takes a drag of a fresh cigarette he must’ve lit while Fred was away. “Yeah. A little.”

Fred sits across from him, lets a moment pass while he sits and takes note of FP’s fingers nervously tapping against the wood, takes in FP’s profile as he stares out at the throng of writhing bodies on the dance floor and blows out smoke. “We don’t have to stay here,” he finally speaks up.

FP whips his head forward, speaks loud enough to be heard over the music. “What?”

“We shouldn’t have come out tonight,” Fred yells back. “I shouldn’t have forced you.”

Something changes in FP’s demeanor then, like he’s suddenly realizing what a downer he’s being. He reaches across the table to take Fred’s hand, and it doesn’t go unnoticed by either of them that this wouldn’t be happening if they were back home, or, hell, even anywhere else. “Hey!” He squeezes Fred’s hand, makes sure he has his attention. “You didn’t force me. I wanted to come. It’s just… an adjustment, you know?”

Fred nods, but it doesn’t do much to convince FP. “Come here,” he says, finishing out his smoke and stamping it out in the ashtray as he tugs Fred’s hand so he comes around to FP’s side of the table. “I want to be here.” He sounds so sure of himself this time, lips pressed right to Fred’s ear so he doesn’t have to yell. “With you,” he tacks on just so his feelings are abundantly clear. 

Fred pulls back and looks into FP’s eyes, searches for any lingering doubt. As if sensing his worry, FP leans in and presses his lips deliberately to his boyfriend’s. There’s that feeling he gets in the pit of stomach every time he kisses Fred, like he’s on high alert for the second this all goes south, like his father or people like him will come barging in to take it all away. He _knows_ he doesn’t have to worry about that here, and it helps relax him the tiniest bit, but still.

FP squeezes his eyes shut in an attempt to push through the fear, and when he slips his tongue into Fred’s mouth and feels more than hears the little moan it elicits from the other boy, he lets himself focus on that instead of everything else.

When they pull apart Fred’s smiling, eyes all lit up seeming secure enough with the fact that this night still has a shot at ending well. 

The song changes over the speakers then, and Fred gets a new burst of energy. His smile grows, mouth falling open as he looks up and over towards the dance floor. FP already knows where this is headed. “I know how you feel about dancing,” Fred starts, “but we _have_ to!”

FP was so caught up in trying to feel present that he completely forgot why they were even here in the first place. Whitney Houston is playing overhead, and the fact that he knows that is something he’d rather not talk about. There’s an objection on his tongue, but he can’t get it out. Fred’s got that damn pout again, and FP’s not even going to bother. “Fine, let’s go.” He’s rewarded with a quick kiss and that somehow makes his impending embarrassment worth it. 

Fred’s dragging him forward by the hand through a mess of sweaty bodies all lost in the beat. He sees a few guys eye Fred and starts feeling territorial, which is new. He’s used to feeling jealous around Hermione and every other girl Fred flirts with, but FP’s never had to worry about _guys_ before. Maybe Fred got a little starry-eyed when Tom Keller was around, but Tom was straight, as far as FP knew. And so was every other guy in Riverdale. There had never been any competition. But if FP has to start a fight in the middle of a gay bar…

“Hey!” Fred shouts. He must’ve found a spot suitable enough for dancing, but FP doesn’t remember when they stopped walking. “Where are you?” He’s got both his hands cradling either side of FP’s jaw, willing him to look forward and focus, his eyes searching the brunet’s to make sure he’s not on the verge of another panic attack.

FP blinks, licks his lips, and swallows down whatever negativity was swelling up inside him. “I’m right here.” He doesn’t strain his voice, but Fred hears him anyway. 

“Good.” Fred smiles, and it settles something in FP. Fred drops his hands from the other boy’s face so he can grab hold of his wrists and drape them over his shoulders. “Now you can dance with me.”

“You’re relentless!” FP counters, raising his voice even while he’s leaning in towards Fred’s ear. 

“But you love it, baby!” Fred turns his head and playfully bites at FP’s jaw, laughing against his skin when he hears FP let out a yelp.

There was no argument FP could make. Because yes, he did love him. And if the fact that he was standing in the middle of a crowded club miles away from home, about to dance to a Whitney Houston song didn’t solidify that enough, the way Fred’s hands felt on his hips, forcing him to sway to the rhythm while keeping their bodies flushed together certainly did. 

FP was probably the worst dancer in the place, but it didn’t seem to matter so much to him anymore. It suddenly dawned on him how special this moment was. He’d spent so much time huffing and complaining and worrying that he hadn’t allowed himself to be present, to take advantage of the fact that this was a too rare moment where he could just _be_. 

Fred certainly had no trouble letting go, and FP would’ve gladly spent his whole night in Fred’s arms watching him lose himself in this new landscape. His boy was beautiful - something FP took notice of every day, but this was entirely different. He was watching Fred experience something new and fit so completely in, and FP knew right then and there he wanted to spend the rest of his life experiencing new things with him. 

He doesn’t know how to dance to this music. He’s used to jumping and thrashing around in mosh pits, but he finds himself not minding the gentle hold Fred has on his waist guiding him along to the rhythm. It still feels awkward, but one look around proves that everyone’s too lost in themselves to pay attention to the little corner the two teens have claimed for themselves. It helps. A little. 

“Are you just gonna stand there all night wagging your hips?” Fred’s voice pulls FP’s eyes back forward, the corner of his mouth turned up in teasing grin. “‘Cause if you are, I’d rather be on the other side of you. Get a better view.”

“I don’t know how to dance to this.” FP feels his face heat up at the admission. It’s not like it was a secret - Fred knew long before tonight that unless he was playing the drums, his boyfriend was severely rhythmically challenged. Still, FP doesn’t want to be a downer. If it’s not his lack of dance skills, it’s his panic attacks ruining their night. He should be able to give Fred this one thing without hassle.

Fred, of course, just shrugs like he’s got the most simple, obvious solution in the world. “Just do what you normally do at concerts.”

“Fred, I really don’t think these people came here to mosh to 80’s pop music.”

“Okay, Mr. Literal,” Fred laughs, “That’s not what I meant. Just… jump around.” And to demonstrate his point, he starts jumping along to the music.

FP stays frozen. He’s too afraid of looking dumb, too afraid of drawing attention, even if logic is telling him there are far more interesting things taking place in this club right now for anyone to be caring about some teenager’s silly dance moves.

Fred’s still jumping, looking wide-eyed at FP like he’s waiting for him to join in any minute now. So FP caves, sucks in a long, mournful breath before he starts hopping around, too. 

“I feel ridiculous!” FP yells over the music, but he’s having a hard time biting back the grin that’s forming. Admittedly, he’s starting to feel looser. He still doesn’t totally feel in his element, but he’s getting there, trying his best to get through whatever mental roadblocks he’s set up himself. 

It helps that Fred can’t keep his hands off him. He’s clearly having an easier time with all this, acclimating to his surroundings like it’s where he’s always belonged. FP shouldn’t find that too surprising, if he thinks about it. Fred’s always been about the free love, always going on about how even though he loved Riverdale he wished it would catch up to the times, wished he could parade FP around town, show him off like the proud boyfriend he was. Sometimes FP thinks Fred would do exactly that, social decorum be damned, if only it wasn’t for FP’s own father. He feels guilty about it, wishes he could stand up to his dad sometimes and not be such a chicken shit. FP knows Fred doesn’t blame him, but he can’t help but wonder if Fred resents it all the same.

But there’s no hiding here, in this club, in the city, far from any recognizable faces, and Fred’s taking full advantage. He holds FP’s hands to pull his body closer, drapes FP’s arms over his shoulders again before mimicking the action himself. They’re still jumping together, faces so close their noses practically bump, and Fred’s face is lit up like Christmas morning. “But you’re having fun, aren’t you?”

And the surprising thing is, FP is. He’s filled with this giddy delight that’s somehow snuck up on him, and he realizes maybe Whitney Houston was on to something with all her singing about dancing with somebody who loved her. Because this? He could get used to this feeling, wants to bottle it up and save it for a rainy day when he could use a pick-me-up.

Fred’s fingers curl into FP’s hair, and it feels like something out of a movie the way the two of them drift to a standstill on the dancefloor, getting lost in each other’s eyes. The scene around them is still chaotic: music blaring and sweaty half naked bodies still bouncing around. But it’s all suddenly muted, and all that’s left are two head over heels in love smalltown boys who feel like they’ve finally gotten to exist in a world that accepts them, even if it is just between these four walls.

Feeling emboldened, FP cups either side of Fred’s neck and pulls him into a kiss, so sudden and unexpected that Fred can’t help but laugh into it. It’s infectious, and pretty soon they’re doing more of that than any actual kissing, but neither of them really seem to mind.

It’s the kind of raw, pure happiness FP only ever gets to feel when he and Fred are alone, when they have a rare quiet moment for just the two of them, when he feels the safest. And here he is, out in public, kissing his boy, engulfed in that same warm feeling. It doesn’t even matter that it won’t last, that the foreseeable future doesn’t hold another moment like this, because what they have right now is enough, because FP never thought he’d even get this.

They pull apart as the song comes to an end, giving way to something more modern that FP can’t place, but they’re still incredibly close, foreheads touching.

“I like this side of you,” Fred smiles, licks his lips while FP tracks the movement.

“Yeah,” FP breathes. “I think I do, too.”

The rest of the night brings FP this sense of freedom, and he opens himself up to a weightlessness he’s never allowed himself to feel before. He and Fred spend a few more songs dancing, FP even venturing out to actually moving his feet and twirling Fred around when there’s enough space. His cheeks hurt from all the smiling and laughing, and he can’t remember the last time he was able to say that. 

They take a break to head to the bar for drinks, FP’s arm casually slung around Fred’s hips the entire time. It’s partly out of protectiveness (he doesn’t want them getting separated in the crowd, doesn’t want anyone thinking Fred’s available), but it’s mainly just because he _can_. The most public display of affection they can get away with in Riverdale is a friendly arm around the shoulders as they walk through the halls at school or share a booth at Pop’s, and even then they have to be careful not to let it linger. 

FP used to think he just wasn’t much for PDA. Now he’s realizing he was just bitter over not being allowed to publicly display the affection he wanted to.

As to be expected, Fred’s loving this taste of freedom. 

He’d gone off to the bathroom, come back to find FP sitting in a booth waiting for him and promptly decided to sit on his lap instead of the other very available seating. He sits sideways, slinging his arm around his boyfriend’s neck, and FP’s arms instinctively snake themselves around Fred’s waist, locking him in place. 

“You would not believe the things going on in there,” Fred says, looking somewhere between scandalized and mesmerized.

“Oh yeah?” FP raises an eyebrow, rests his chin on Fred’s shoulder as he looks up at him. “What kind of things?”

Fred smirks. “Mmm… I’ll show you later.” He leans down to capture FP’s bottom lip between his own, giving it a playful tug with his teeth as he pulls back. The music’s still going at a deafening volume, but he doesn’t miss the groan that slips from the back of FP’s throat. “Some guy called me a twink. I think it’s a compliment.”

FP laughs. He has no idea what the word means, makes a mental note to ask Gladys later, but he can’t imagine it’s anything too offensive. At least, he hopes. The night had gone smoothly enough. No one had given them any problems. Would be a real bummer if they started now. 

There ends up being no need to worry. The rest of the night pans out without incident. 

There’s more dancing than FP would’ve ever imagined. There’s more shots - the two of them getting a nice buzz going. Both boys are dripping with sweat by the time they decide to call it a night, and FP finally thinks he understands why half the club was wearing as little clothing as possible. He doesn’t know if he’s quite ready for booty shorts and not much else, but Fred clearly had the right idea opting for a tank top. 

The chilly night time breeze does wonders as it hits their skin (FP’s flannel and Fred’s jacket securely tied around their waists) when they come stumbling out of the club, more from giddiness and the overwhelming presence of young, dumb love than any intoxication, though Fred may be feeling his liquor more than FP.

FP doesn’t want to go home, isn’t ready to let go of this just yet. He doesn’t have much of a choice, he knows, but a few more minutes will be more than enough to hold him over until whatever next time they get, if it ever comes.

He takes a look around, takes in the sight of rainbow flags flown proudly outside the surrounding buildings, takes in the other gay couples adorning the street like this is just how life is. In another world it is, but not the one Fred and FP have to go back to. It gives him a little boost of courage, though. Fred’s heading towards the bus station, trains no longer running this late, hand in hand with his boyfriend, but FP stands still, causing Fred’s arm to pull and he turns around to see what the problem is. 

“Why are we stopping?” 

FP doesn’t answer, only steps into Fred’s space and cups his cheek, thumb gently stroking his skin as FP leans in for a kiss. His tongue slides past Fred’s teeth, and he can feel the corners of Fred’s mouth curling up. Something warm spreads through FP, something tender. He wants to keep this forever, too.

The moment ends when some passerby whistles at them, says _”Hope you kids are having fun”_ as he walks by, and the boys’ laughter breaks them apart. 

“Well, that’s definitely not the reaction we’d get at home,” FP says as he looks over his shoulder to the stranger’s retreating form. His cheeks have gone flush and Fred just wants to kiss him again. So he does. 

He takes hold of FP’s face with both hands, reaching up on his toes to get that little extra height that will make them equal, and Fred’s breathing FP in like a lifeline. The headiness of the kiss combined with the alcohol he’s consumed is making him dizzy in the best possible way, but FP’s hands on his hips keep him grounded.

They pull apart, and Fred doesn’t think he’s ever seen FP so happy, grin so wide it threatens to split his face in two. 

“What was that for?” 

Fred shrugs, smile just as bright on his own face. “Just felt like it.”

“Can’t argue with that.” And FP’s leaning in for their third kiss out in the open. He could get used to this, he thinks somewhere in the back of his mind. It’s a dangerous thought to have, because wanting for things that can’t happen is useless and never did him or anybody else any good, but he wants all the same.

He grazes his nose against Fred’s cheek, leaves an open mouthed kiss there before he scatters kisses all across Fred’s face; his nose, his eyelids, his forehead… anywhere FP can. 

Fred hums contentedly. He doesn’t want this night to end, but they’ve got a bus to catch and need to leave now if they want to make it back home. “Come on, loverboy,” he says, taking a step back, pulling FP along with him. “Reality awaits.”

FP whines, actually _pouts_ , and Fred has to stop himself from kissing him again. The fact that FP didn’t even want to come out tonight and is now fighting to leave is not lost on Fred. He feels like he’s witnessed some sort of miracle. Part of him feels bad for having to end it, but even Cinderella didn’t get to stay all night at the ball. 

“I don’t wanna go,” FP complains, doing his best impression of a bratty child. 

Fred just smiles and keeps walking them back. “We gotta go.”

FP sighs, finally giving in. “Fine. Guess that just means we’ve gotta come back.”

Fred’s eyes light up at that. “Promise?”

FP doesn’t want to say an explicit _yes_. He knows he can’t really promise that. Sneaking out to the city is no easy feat, and it’s not like either of them have a lot of opportunity to do so. But he doesn’t want to say _no_ either, so he settles on a final kiss, and he thinks Fred understands the implication.

The bus ride home is quiet. They’re pretty much the only passengers, so Fred takes what little alone time they have left and uses it to cuddle with FP in the seat, head resting on FP’s shoulder while Fred dozes in and out of consciousness. 

Their hands are intertwined on FP’s thigh, and FP spends the whole ride staring down at his boyfriend’s sleeping form, imagining a world where this is accepted, where he doesn’t have to be cautious with his love. He thinks back to the club, how with a little help from Whitney Houston he was able to open up and push his guard down and for a brief moment know what that felt like.

It’s not a lot, but he’ll take it. And for now, that’s enough.

**Author's Note:**

> its pride month so not leaving comments and kudos is homophobic. thank you


End file.
